Walls

As my “exhibit wall” expands, I do, too. I surround myself with what lifts me or brings me more into vibration with God.

(I write as I await the computer to return to me after faithfully reporting in to Big Brother. We are at 90% on updates, I have two pages to write in the book before it resurfaces its little all-seeing eye upon me.)

My space is not crowded, though I am finding more to put up. All of this will stay for some little while & then recharge the day I get up & take it all down to start.

The change I am experiencing usually comes in September, which has always represented a “beginning month” to me. (It’s mid-August, but I swear in my own truth it is September.)

I am more keenly aware of all not aligning with where I am cannot remain in the “energetic I” long. I think of the frame in the movie Whale Rider where she rides the beached whale into the sea after laboriously convincing him to turn around to face his own reality. When the whale sounds with her, she floats from his back, more than half-frozen, eyes closed, hands unwillingly opening. I cannot see yet at what cost, but I let go, opening my eyes now. Something in the mechanics of being alive changes profoundly.

I thought I needed to get a job & earn money. So, I figured maybe a little weekend work at the café when they are busy. The server there is many-years experienced, but I noticed she could use support work. I figured to bus tables & speed things up – maybe earn a “coinly” wage to supplement supplies. I wrote an application letter to the owners. I gathered up my mail for the post office as a via point, walked across the street & into the café. As soon as I entered, my eye fell upon the second server! Guess this was not my job. Which was as well because taking in their black slacks, stiff white blouses & natty black aprons, I realized I probably can never wear a uniform again.

I deepened other activity times, walking West in the blaze of glory which clothes sunset in New Mexico. I walk to the bridge to see how high the creek is running. This enlarges my morning walk, East, into sunrise, bracketing it nicely. And a new-again Yoga practice to devote myself to.

All of me is coming together. Even as I take the time in consciousness to slow down in my head, I pick up physical speed. It feels good. I do not have to have music or a book; in fact, I begin to recognize a more specific effect that others’ words & stories have upon me. I ask myself if I wish to participate? Cannot tell you how many books & movies I’ve returned to the library after a cursory perusal of contents. But where I once became anxious without a book on hand to dive into, I find I can sit outside of an evening to wait for whatever sounds may float by. I light my luminaria on the table & put my feet up. I psychically repel mosquitoes.

Who will emerge when the Hillsboro Chrysalis opens is anyone’s guess. The women in the West with the best survival rates have always been warriors. But the warrior I want to be carries no weapons; remains defenseless, never calls upon remorse or blame, offers only witness as the ultimate in participation. Bringing none, blaming none, bluffing none. It’s just me again, facing another door & liking the me on the other side.